


grey morality and a lack of bravery

by luxxurycar



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: Esme and Beatrice are sisters don't come for me, Jerome was a fire starter or at least not super noble, basically half of this is just based on headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 16:24:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17832026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxxurycar/pseuds/luxxurycar
Summary: Jerome Squalor contemplates his wife and what she could possibly want with three (five?) orphans.





	grey morality and a lack of bravery

Jerome has never claimed to be a particularly brave man, nor, luckily, has he ever claimed to be a particularly smart man. This is lucky because he can name several people off the top of his head who would be more than happy to call him an idiot for marrying his very fashionable wife. The other volunteers don’t understand, which is fine, in his opinion, because it’s his wife and therefore his business; it’s the fact that none of them have ever  _tried_ to understand that bothers him, really. Jerome isn’t stupid, despite what he’s sure several of his fellow volunteers think; he knows that Esmé married him solely for the Vertical Flame Diversion conveniently situated mere feet from the front door of the penthouse at 667 Dark Avenue. Jerome prefers to think of himself as pragmatic. Esmé's reasons for marrying him don’t  _have_  to matter, and so they don’t, really.

But here’s the thing: there’s a space between what Jerome knows is fact (that Esmé married him solely for the Vertical Flame Diversion) and what the others think (that he and Esmé just exist together, two people in a penthouse large enough for twenty). Esmé is many things,  _fashionable_ being number one,  _dangerous_ probably a close second. Jerome wouldn’t consider himself either of those, really, at least not without her guidance-but that’s just it: they  _work,_  somehow. Jerome has never been a big fan of romance novels and so he never spent much time fantasizing about some kind of happily ever after, although, ironically, he and Esmé had married after only a few days, which typically only happens in fairy tales. It wasn’t love at first sight and Jerome has never expected it to be, but he can’t find the words to explain the way Esmé's smile-her  _real_ smile, not the bullshit one she uses on the press-makes him feel. It’s partly why he can’t explain their relationship to the other volunteers, and partly why he doesn’t want to.

Still, they are right about one thing: Esmé is dangerous with a capital D. But, contrary to what they probably think-what he  _knows_ Jacques thinks, because Jacques has told him-Jerome understands this. He knows it probably better than most of the other volunteers; he was there on Mount Fraught the day the eagles stole his best pair of binoculars and didn’t steal Beatrice Baudelaire’s life, listened in while Esmé gossiped about plans to start a fire- _another_ fire-and so he understands. Jerome has never claimed to be either particularly smart or particularly brave, but he thinks he understands something else, too, better than the others: plausible deniability. Heaven knows merely being married to Esmé isn’t a crime, though possibly it should be, and neither is witnessing a crime (or several crimes, as the case may be) and keeping your mouth shut. Esmé knows how to cover their tracks, so Jerome isn’t worried.

At the end of the day, he’s keeping an eye on Esmé. That means more to the other volunteers than they typically let slip, but Jerome knows. It means they don’t have to worry about her, don’t have to assign anyone to tail her or spend the day with her under the guise of something nice like _friendship_ or  _concern_. Jerome doesn’t think about all the ways he’s betrayed them; doesn’t think about how they trust him implicitly. People aren’t black and white, like a pinstriped suit; he’s done a lot of good by marrying Esme and inviting her into his penthouse. He doesn’t like thinking about how hollow that sentiment feels at times, how quickly it would turn to ash in his mouth if the other volunteers discovered even half of what he knows and doesn’t share. So he doesn’t think about it, hasn’t thought about it in months.

He’s thinking about it a lot, now, morals and grey areas and right and wrong, because Esmé has a new plan. Jerome doesn’t know how he’d never thought of it, except he  _does_  know because he spends probably more time avoiding certain thoughts than he ever does being concerned about his wife’s hobbies.

He’s never been one to stand up to her, not even that time her dinner plans had involved more than four disguises and possibly a touch of arson, but he knows that this time has to be an exception. Jerome has never claimed to be particularly smart, particularly brave, or particularly morally upright, but everyone has to draw the line somewhere. “Esmé, darling, I really don’t think-”

“I didn’t ask you to think, now did I?” Esmé interrupts him, giving him one of her signature amused smirks in the mirror she’s currently using to make sure her lipstick is perfect. “I told you we are adopting three  _adorable_ orphans, and so we need to make arrangements for them. And by ‘we’, I mean you, of course,” she continues, still perfecting her lipstick. Jerome clasps his hands nervously, watching her. This isn’t like her other plans, which generally involve quite a bit of subterfuge and absolutely no children.

“You’ve never wanted children,” he speaks again after a few moments. It’s likely useless to try to appeal to her logic; once she has an idea in mind, it’s  _in_ , and nothing is going to change it. But he has to try, because isn’t this what he’s supposed to be doing, as her husband? He’s never done it before, but she’s never tried involving anyone else in her plans before, much less  _children_ , so he’s never had to. Esmé's reflection gives him an impatient look through the mirror, her eyes flicking over to meet his.

“Yes, well, orphans are  _in_ now, and we have the opportunity to acquire three of them, five if you count those annoying twins with the sapphire fortune, which will positively make all our friends just  _die_ ,” she responds, grinning into the mirror to make sure there’s no lipstick on her teeth. With her teeth bared like that, she looks like a wild animal, ready to pounce. Jerome shifts uncomfortably, though he isn’t going to comment on her rather discomfiting exaggeration regarding their friends.

This isn’t comfortable for him, disagreeing with her; he’s seen what happened to pretty much everyone else who’s ever wronged her in some way, and isn’t eager to add his own name to that list, but these are  _children_ they’re talking about. Why on earth she wants to adopt three-or is it five, now?-children after being vehemently against parenthood for all the years he’s known her only adds to Jerome’s discomfort. “Besides, these are Beatrice’s children, and what sort of aunt would I be if I didn’t take them in?” She laughs, watching her reflection as she did so. The laugh is a fake one, the one she brings out during interviews to convince the reporter that she’s just as kind and innocent as every article about and picture of her might suggest. But Jerome has to admit that she has a point; as the children’s aunt, she likely should have been their legal guardian much sooner, as Beatrice had no other siblings, and Bertrand had been an only child. “They’re used to being spoiled, and we can provide the sort of life they  _deserve_ ,” Esmé continues, interrupting her husband’s train of thought and purring the word ‘deserve’ as if it has a deeper meaning. Jerome is suddenly, absolutely certain that she’s planning something sinister.

“We ought to have taken them in sooner, then,” he responds after a pause since it’s clear that Esmé expects him to, and earns a scathing glare in response. He barely shrinks away, his mind on all of the possible things she might be planning for the orphans. Their home had already suffered a terrible fire, which in itself makes Jerome uneasy. He’s never even considered that Esmé might be responsible for Beatrice’s death, but he’s considering it now. It’s not a matter of whether she  _could_ or even whether she  _would_ , but rather a matter of whether she’d been pissed off enough about the whole sugar bowl incident to bother. He thinks, probably far too late, that she was, and that he ought to have mentioned it to someone before now.

“Orphans were  _out_  then, I don’t make the rules,” she shrugs slightly, her reflection meeting his eyes again coolly. Esmé declares various things  _out_ on any given day, sometimes with a reason behind it and sometimes not. Jerome knows that her statement about ‘not making the rules’ is false, because she often  _does_ make the rules-a phrase which here means she’d ordered him to call the Daily Punctilio (the only paper desperate enough to take someone’s word alone as proof of a good story) and inform them that something was  _in_ or  _out_ , depending on her mood, on several different occasions. Thus, the fact that orphans had been  _out_  in some capacity in the months since the fire that had claimed the Baudelaire home and parents is not as telling as it might have been otherwise. Jerome finds himself oddly disappointed, though he isn’t sure what else he’d expected from her.  _Why now_ , he wants to ask.  _Why them_ , is possibly a better question.

“Esmé, darling, is there a reason we’re adopting the Baudelaires?” He asks at last, which is neither of the questions he  _wants_  to ask, but probably the safest option if she  _is_  planning something sinister. Sometimes, if she’s in the right mood or simply wants him complicit in her plans, Esmé will tell him what she’s thinking if he asks. He thinks sometimes that it might be a reward for his bravery in asking; other times he thinks she just wants to talk about herself. Either way, it comes in handy.

Today he will not get lucky. “Do I need a reason other than the fact that they are my nieces and nephew, whom I’m sure my darling dead sister would have wanted me to take care of and spoil to the best of my abilities?” Esmé responds flatly, which is never a good sign. She’s finished with her lipstick now, dropping the tube back into her purse. “You ought to lighten up, darling; it’s not i _n_ to be suspicious of your wife,” she adds after a moment, tone switching to one that suggests he’s lucky she is taking the time to explain something so obvious to him. He hates that tone; sometimes, when he’s feeling maudlin, he imagines she might be considering how best to murder him and make it look like an accident. He’s never thought she’d actually do it, though. Just like he hadn’t considered that she might have set the Baudelaire fire.

Jerome isn’t either particularly smart or particularly brave, but he knows when to play it safe. Talking to Esmé can sometimes be like walking through a field of landmines, albeit one he knows well and has usually successfully navigated. So he backs off: “Suspicious? I never said I was suspicious.” He smiles at her, hoping she’ll believe him. She usually does, to the point where he doesn’t know what he’ll do if she doesn’t, this time.

“You didn’t have to, dear, I can tell when someone’s thinking something  _out_ ,” Esmé responds after a pause just long enough to unsettle him further. “By the way, I’m having someone over this afternoon to finalize the details of the  _In_ Auction, so don’t mind him even if he needs to stand behind the curtains and look menacing for a while-you know how foreigners are,” she continues. He lets himself relax, though not visibly so. She wouldn’t have changed the subject if she hadn’t believed his denial of suspicion; she could have been a damn good detective with her interrogation skills. 

“Yes, well, I suppose I’ll just get things ready for the orphans, then,” he responds after another pause, though he hadn't really heard a word she'd said. All things considered, he should be happy. She’d let him off the hook, for now, even after his suspicion of her. But Jerome  _understands_ , intimately, how she can be; has seen firsthand how naturally cruelty and cunning comes to her. Children like the Baudelaires, even as experienced with tragedy and unfortunate circumstances as they obviously are, won’t have a chance of detecting her dark side until it comes lashing out. Logically, morally, the right thing to do would be to call the orphanage, or the bank, or wherever they’re keeping the orphans currently and tell them to keep the children far away from 667 Dark Avenue. But it’s not  _safe_ , and more than that, Jerome knows that Esmé would  _never_ forgive a betrayal like that. Especially not if she really  _does_ just want to offer her nieces and nephew a safe place to live, however unlikely that seems.

“Jerome? You’re just  _standing there_ , and we have work to do,” Esmé snaps, startling him out of his train of thought. “You  _said_ you were going to get things ready for the orphans,” she snarls, glaring at him. Jerome thinks again,  _I should tell them I should warn them I should-_

Instead he ducks his head submissively, nodding quickly. “Of course, you’re right, I was just distracted. I’ll go prepare some aqueous martinis for us, we want them to get used to living in style, don’t we?” He stammers quickly, sidestepping out of the room to avoid turning his back on her as he leaves. It’s either a quick escape route or a cunning plan to go behind his wife’s back for the first time in their marriage; he doesn’t know yet.

He doesn’t know until he walks into the kitchen and can’t bring himself to look at the phone as he passes it. Calling someone and telling them to keep the children away is a nice idea, and probably the moral thing to do, but it isn’t something Jerome is willing to die for. Because Esmé would kill him for it, he understands that. She is dangerous with a capital D, and Jerome has never been particularly brave, but he will protect them.  _Of course I will_ , he reassures himself. He repeats the thought internally as he gathers the needed supplies for the martinis, and has almost convinced himself of it by the time the drink cart is ready to be wheeled out into the entryway.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm snicketscope on tumblr if y'all want to talk to me there.


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